Isn’t it funny how a chance meeting wrapped up in a little serendipity can convince a girl she’s found “the one?” It was a sunny, happy afternoon and I just finished a business lunch at a cozy spot in the Knox area. I was feeling more confident and sassy than usual. I was actually not eating like a teen boy that week, so I was feeling slender. My hair was luscious and shiny, giving me an extra pep in my high-heeled step.
Let me coat these next chain of events with some whimsical, rom-com music. Imagine my bouncy curls as I glide across the street to my car. As I open the car door, a fine ass gentleman meets my gaze. It was one of those “make eye contact, look away quickly and then do a double take.” I shot him a quick smile and flipped my hair in a non-obvious way. For a moment I thought maybe he would come say hello. Then I imaginarily pinched my arm, reminding myself real life doesn’t always get teed up like “meet-cutes” in the love films.
I turn on my car and he dashes into a quaint sidewalk store. Getting ready to back up, I’m surprised when I hear a knock-knock on my passenger window. Thank goodness I didn‘t speed out of there, or I could have ran over his glossy businessman shoes.
I timidly roll down the window, wondering why he came to the passenger door. I am a slightly paranoid biddy, so it crossed my mind he might hold a gun to my head and rob me. Having this thought and still rolling down the window proves I’m a bit of a dumbass I guess. Perhaps I was blinded by a combo of hope, love and lust. Anyway, the memorable first words that sexily escaped his lips were, “Excuse me…what do you think of the color of this car?” I was tongue-tied and confused. He was of course pointing to his sleek BMW parked next to me. Out of all the things you could say to a girl in a pretty dress, you’re going to talk about an automobile? I awkwardly replied, “I don’t know about cars.” I’m surprised he didn’t say, “It’s not a matter of knowledge about cars. I’m asking about the color bitch!” Instead, he flashed his pearly whites, thanked me and casually walked away. I thought, “Damnit I’m having this serendipitous moment! It’s half-baked, so let’s get this romance cooking!”
I boldly rolled down my window and exclaimed, “Is that all ya got?” He had his back to me, but swiveled his glossy shoes towards me after my outburst. He laughed and asked me to repeat it. I thought to myself, “You heard me. I didn’t stutter.” I repeated what I said in a flirty tone and the next thing I know he’s hanging on the side of my window.
I asked him why he started hitting on me and then backed off. He admitted he got nervous and was spooked. Soon enough, our words were tangled in a conversation circling around the standard “nice to meet you” jargon. Great chemistry and up close he was still incredibly attractive. He asked me out right then in there, which I found refreshing. A man in a suit and a man with some balls. What a girl wants, right?
After we traded our goodbyes, he turned around and said, “You’re pretty cute Pocket.” I’m a sucker for a man calling me by my last name, especially when it’s attached to a compliment. It was simply the icing on “our” wedding cake and he had me ready to pick out china settings.
As I was playing the encounter over in my head, I was stunned there were no caution lights flashing. And as crazy as it sounds, I was thinking he could totally be the one. It‘s fate of course. Imagining our wedding day toast, “Yes we met on the street and he just had to say hello because he was so taken by me!” Of course I called my mom and best friends, gabbing away, offering every detail of the chance meeting.
Naturally, my “future husband” requested my digits. Three hours after we met, he sent me the expected text saying how great it was to meet me…blah blah blah. We continued with our witty banter back and forth via text. And then it got weird. Shit! Why did it have to get weird? That familiar feeling in my gut started creeping up and I knew this guy was as good as goodbye.
The texts were so sweet until he offered up he was a “humungous giver physically.” How the hell was I supposed to respond to that? Perhaps “Well I’d love to tug on your cock.” I’m sure he was wanting a little tit for tat. Call me old-fashioned but let’s get through a coffee date first before you divulge you’re an ace at oral sex. I can appreciate your knowledge base and talent, but let me appreciate it down the road.
My response stopped Humongous Giver Physically (how he’s saved in my phone) in his tracks. My retort was, “Wow you must have been around the block a time or two.” Silence. A few days later we end up chatting on the phone and I told him straight up I didn’t like his initiated sext. He thought I was overreacting and began singing the praises of his talented tongue. I mentally developed a catalogue of all the imaginary women he’s gone down on to perfect his craft. Major turnoff to think of a guy who gets around.
I saw Humongous Giver Physically one time after our initial enchanted encounter. It was far from enchanting the second time around. He called me up one Sunday afternoon when I was out for a stroll. He insisted to come and meet me. I reluctantly agreed and immediately was overcome with anxiety. I was dripping with sweat and totally freaked out by him. I don’t know why I allow myself to get in situations like this. I will now cling to the motto, “live and learn.” At the time, I thought if he saw me sweaty and raggedy, surely he would lose interest.
As we saw each other, he charged at me like a bull. I was caught off guard and immediately retreated. In the midst of his fondling me, I managed to flick my sweaty ponytail. Spatters of sweat daintily landed on his shoulder. I thought, “Perfect. This will gross him out for sure.” Instead, he told me I looked so damn sexy. Must have been a concoction of the pheromones and hard-working deodorant.
This uncomfortable meet-up encouraged me to nip this shit in the bud. Why drag something on with a guy I have strong hesitations about? He texted me the next day and my response was uninviting and slightly cold. He either got the picture or decided to move onto a slutty girl who would receive his sexualness with open legs. Don’t get me wrong, a headboard banging sex session would be delightful, but not after a short string of texts.
So, this little tale definitely ended up on the cutting room floor. Although a promising beginning, the ending was far from what I envisioned the day we met. I realize I can’t place so many expectations on the outcome of something after one silly, chance meeting. I was forcing and rushing a happy ending, instead of letting something happen naturally. It’s time to wise up and quit playing the role of the doe-eyed damsel. Lesson learned without a heartbreak. Phew!